


A Piece of Heaven

by arthurmorgan-s-heart (Silverblind)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Lap Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 10:11:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17896502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverblind/pseuds/arthurmorgan-s-heart
Summary: Arthur and his wife take a well-deserved moment for themselves in Horseshoe Overlook.





	A Piece of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request fill from my tumblr blog. Uploaded here for convenience - find me on tumblr - arthurmorgan-s-heart
> 
> Original request text: "A nsfw arthur x fem reader getting much need alone time after everyone settles in horseshoe, and they just got married pls."

“Ain’t never been so glad to see some goddamn grass before in my life.”

You laugh at Arthur’s gruff words, though you share the sentiment wholeheartedly; after the rough days spent in Colter, Horseshoe Overlook seems half a paradise, and the lush Heartlands surrounding it some kind of promised land. As the wagon rolls into camp, you see that most of the tents have already been set up, though you’re sure there is still plenty more to do.

Arthur brings the wagon to a halt on the outskirts of the camp before climbing down and offering you his hand to help you do the same. You take it with a smile, lacing your fingers through his as he guides you down to the ground; for the first time in weeks, his touch feels warm, alive.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Morgan,” you say when your feet touch the ground, and he draws you closer with a hand on your waist.

“My pleasure, Mrs. Morgan,” he answers before pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. You can’t help but smile against his mouth as warmth spreads through you - you’re still not quite used to hearing that. You’d been together for years, but only married - truly, properly married - a matter of weeks, and most of those spent on the run. As you reach up to press a hand to the back of his neck while you sneak the other under his heavy winter coat to brush over his ribs, you dare to hope that you might finally have a bit of time to celebrate the start of your new life as husband and wife.

“Should get to work,” you mutter against his lips after a moment, leaning away slightly. He chases your mouth for another kiss, which you grant him before pushing against his chest with both hands. “Before Grimshaw comes callin’.”

“I guess,” he breathes, smoothing one hand up your back to come cradle the back of your head, threading his fingers through your hair to draw you in for one last kiss; you huff out a laugh as you reach up to press your fingers to his lips, and he grumbles in mock protest before letting go of you. His hand holds yours for half a moment longer, squeezing comfortingly, before he lets you step away, and you give him one last smile as you turn toward where Ms. Grimshaw and the other girls are gathered, making your way over.

“Mrs. Morgan, good of you to finally join us,” she says when you join their small circle. The tone is dry and a tad accusatory, but she still can’t quite hide the warmth in her eyes. The others smile at you knowingly before you all focus back on Ms. Grimshaw. “We have a lot of work to do.”

* * *

The sun is setting by the time Ms. Grimshaw runs out of tasks to give you, and you can’t help a relieved sigh when you see her waving you away. Some people are already gathering around the campfire for an evening of singing and drinking, but you doubt you’ll have the energy to join them. The only thing on your mind is getting out of this dress and laying down in your bed.

As you step into your tent, you’re surprised to find Arthur already sitting there, sketching in his journal; you’d been sure that Dutch had already sent him out on some errand or another - you’re definitely glad that wasn’t the case. He looks up at you with a warm smile as he closes his journal and places it on the bedside table before standing up.

“How you feelin’?” he asks as you step closer. He’d taken off his heavy coat, leaving him in the faded blue shirt he loved so well. “Ms. Grimshaw work you hard?”

“You know the answer to that,” you sigh, leaning up to kiss his lips lightly before sitting down on the bed to kick off your boots without caring where they land. You feel Arthur’s eyes on you as you reach for the buttons of your shirt, looking up to find him staring at you with a half-smile on his lips, thumbs hooked in his belt. You know that look - half-lidded, darkened eyes that look you over agonizingly slowly -, and your exhaustion slowly seems to fade, replaced by a low, quiet flame.

“What?” you ask innocently, though you know full well what he’s thinking.

“You know that’s my favourite thing to do,” he says quietly, stepping closer as he gestures at your hands, still at your collar. “Could let your husband do it, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I didn’t wanna bother you with that,” you reply nonchalantly, quickly undoing the first few buttons, just enough to give him a tantalizing glimpse of your skin. “I can do it myself.”

“I insist,” he says as he drops to one knee before you, hands reaching up to replace yours. You hum contentedly as you lean back, allowing him to undo a few more before your own hands find the collar of his shirt - you hear his breath hitch, and he pauses to look up and meet your eyes.

“And what’d you think you’re doin’?” he breathes, and you smile impishly as the first few buttons fall open under your fingers.

“Seems only fair,” you answer. He rises to his feet, and you laugh softly when he pushes you down on the bed with a gentle hand on your shoulder, placing on knee between your legs as he bends over you, leaning in to kiss your lips and holding himself up with a hand next to your head, the other cradling your cheek.

“Finish what you started, then,” he whispers, and your hands are at his shirt again, pulling it free from where it’s tucked into his pants before undoing the remaining buttons. He lifts himself off you to shrug it off when it finally falls open, watching as you move on to your own shirt, working the last few buttons free before sitting up to take it off as well. You throw it aside - it lands somewhere behind him - before letting yourself fall back down, reaching for his shoulders when he leans over you again to meet your lips for a gentle kiss. His hand splays over your collarbone before smoothing down to cup your breast, and you moan quietly against his mouth in encouragement, your palms brushing down the warm planes of his back to find his hips.

“Missed this,” he whispers as he moves to kiss your cheek, your jaw, slowly tracing a path down the side of your neck to the curve of your shoulder. His free hand reaches down between you, and you hear his belt buckle clink free. “Missed you.”

“Me too.” Your hands join his at his front, fumbling at the buttons of his pants, feeling him hard and warm under your fingers as you do so. There had been little chance for privacy or intimacy these past few weeks, and you longed for nothing more than to feel his skin against yours. “Me too.”

He moves off you again so that he can pull off his trousers and underwear, throwing them aside unceremoniously before he gestures for you to turn over so that he can get your skirt off you. You oblige, feeling his fingers press at the nape of your neck for a moment before tracing down the line of your spine, your skin tingling pleasantly in their wake.

“Arthur…” you whine impatiently, looking at him over your shoulder.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles in answer, making quick work of the buttons at the small of your back before pulling your skirt and underwear down your legs, letting them fall to the ground. You turn over on your back again, looking up at him to see him raking his eyes over you, taking in every detail of you - though you know he has every inch of your skin memorized already, by touch and sight both. You meet his eyes as you sit up before pushing yourself to your feet, taking a half-step forward so that you can press yourself against him. You angle your head up to kiss him, and you feel him grab at your hips to draw them closer to his, trapping his aching length between your bodies as he grinds himself against you slightly, and there is a steady heat beating in your core in time with his movements.

“Come on,” you whisper, taking his hand and guiding him back to the bed. “Sit,” you say, letting go of his hand to reach for his shoulders, pressing slightly. He complies, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes trained on yours. He growls when you straddle him, seating yourself in his lap before reaching down to take him in your hand, giving a few languid strokes as you make yourself comfortable.

“You ready?” you whisper, and he leans forward to kiss your forehead before answering, his hands settling at your hips once more.

“You know I am, sweetheart.”

You smile as you lift yourself off him, holding his gaze as you press him against your core for a moment before you slowly, slowly sink down, your eyes fluttering shut unwittingly as a quiet moan escapes you. You feel him lean forward to press his forehead against your collarbone, hot, quaking breaths fanning over the skin of your chest as he grips your hips with bruising force. You’re not sure how long you both stay like this, almost overwhelmed by the feeling of each other after so long, but eventually he thrusts upward, the movement so slight that it might have been accidental, though it prompts you to roll your hips down against him, wrenching a loud groan from his throat - _too_ loud.

“Arthur…!” you sound half-amused, half-reproachful, and he lets out a low, rumbling  laugh before pressing a kiss to your throat, thrusting up into you again - it’s your turn to moan, louder than you ever meant to, and you bring one hand up to press against your mouth to muffle the involuntary giggle that escapes you, feeling him shake with laughter against you.

“Seems I ain’t the only one havin’ some trouble,” he whispers as he sets a slow, steady rhythm, and this time you laugh openly, taking your hand off your mouth as you angle your head down so that you can look at him. The adoring glint you see shining in his eyes when he looks up to meet your gaze has warmth spreading through your chest, and you can’t help but smile as you bring one hand up to cradle his cheek before leaning down to kiss him lightly, your hips rising and falling in time with his. If not for the voices that drifted through the tent’s canvas walls, you could almost have believed yourselves alone in the world.

“Never thought I’d have this,” he breathes, and you see his eyes slip closed. Your hand moves from his cheek to the back of his head to tangle in his hair, while the other finds his back, pressing flat between his shoulders. “Never thought I’d have _you_.”

“I’m here,” you whisper against his ear, gasping when you feel him start to thrust harder. “I’ll always be here, Arthur.”

He releases a shuddering breath against your throat as his rhythm grows faster, the both of you trying your best to stay quiet, though you almost cry out when you feel one of his hands leave your hip to reach between your legs, finding your center. From there, it is trivial for him to make you come apart - and he does just that, tracing tight, rapid circles that have you trembling and shuddering in his grasp. You have to bury your face in the crook of his neck to keep from moaning too loudly, the hand you held in his hair curling into a fist and pulling slightly; he growls at that, his own end looming close as you kiss his temple.

“I love you, Arthur, I love you so much,” you breathe against his ear, and it’s enough to make him jolt up against you, hard, uncoordinated, pressing open mouthed kisses to your shoulder to muffle his moans as he finds his pleasure, rolling his hips for a few moments more until he is spent. You thread your fingers through his hair soothingly as you both try to steady your breathing, his arms snaking around your waist as he trails kisses along the length of your collarbone.

“I love you too, darlin’,” he whispers. He takes your left hand in his, bringing it to his lips to kiss the golden band around your ring finger. “Mrs. Morgan.”

The smile he gives you feels bright enough to be a second sun, and it warms you down to your bones. You close the distance between you for a long, tender kiss.

“To new beginnings,” you whisper against his lips. “Mr. Morgan.”

 


End file.
